Remembering
by Donna Vito Frutti
Summary: Year 1198, when all the Founders were dead, save for one.


**REMEMBERING**

**\- Donna Vito Fruttie**

**Quidditch League Challenge **

**Season 2, Round 11 **

**Team \- Wimbourne Wasps**

**Position \- Beater1**

**Prompts \- Freedom, Flood**

**AN \- This was hastily done, so pardon any typos, mistakes or errors.**

**A/N \- Do read and REVIEW, coz, it would mean a lot to me. **

**A/N \- Enjoy**

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**REMEMBERING**

The man sitting behind the desk had an ancient appearance. He was very old, even by wizarding standards. A long, thin and white beard trailed down from his face. Occasionally he would stroke it, thoughtfully. He was seated by the window, on a comfortable armchair. The only companion he had was a small snake lying across his palm. He was talking quietly to himself and was also occasionally hissing to the snake. The snake appeared to understand the hisses.  
"Quite a fine day, is it not? " he murmured.  
Age and time seemed to have robbed him of chunks of memories from his past, significant life. Remembering, was a struggle. It was like trying to see through a thick, endless mist. He could not remember The Great Hall or rooms that connected to it. He could not see the dark waters of the Lake or where it lay. He could not remember the Welcome Feast... but the memories of his friends were still fresh in his mind. And in his mind, they hadn't aged a day.  
He thought of them quite often, now. "Yes. Quite a fine day, old friend. The holidays have begun." He absently stroked the snake on its triangular head. "We should spend some time together... take a vacation," he murmured again.  
There were four of them, the Founders of Hogwarts. And he was the last remaining Founder. So much had happened, since he had helped found the school. It had been over a century since he had left Hogwarts. Atrocities were still being committed by muggles against anyone they deemed different. Wizards qualified the most for being different, he remembered. They had harmed many of his near and dear ones...and then history had tainted his name...

When Hogwarts was first open to students, Salazar had very strongly protested against admitting the muggleborns. They may not have been involved in the crimes of their muggle brethren, but they were far too different, far too unfamiliar, with the magical world and posed a huge threat to the wizarding population. Wizards and witches caught unawares and children too young to defend themselves were often victims of inexplicable, but inevitable hatred. And that sort of hatred translated into unrest and violence. Helga had understood, of course. But then, Helga had always understood him...

She had reasoned with him. Muggle and muggle-born were two very different terms, Helga had said. Hogwarts was going to make all the difference. She would know. After all, she was a muggle-born, herself. It was easy to underestimate her, as he had learnt the hard way, but Helga had a sort of strength and intelligence that made even Rowena envious. But then, Rowena was good at everything. It is a shame that only Godric was recognised for his duelling skills, and never her. The wizarding world was not very approving, then, when it came to a witch who was a duellist, even a witch as fierce as Rowena...

One of the last things he remembered about his friends was their looks of dismay, the day he had announced that he was going to leave them and the dream they had worked hard to make a reality. Hogwarts had been their dream. All of theirs. It was a haven that stood for equality and freedom. And friendship.  
It was home.

Why had he left? Ah, yes. He remembered. When he could tolerate the attacks against his family no more, he had retaliated. He had attacked the muggles he thought were responsible. It had been very reckless of him. Not even Godric would have behaved so, he was sure, had he been in that situation. His hatred against muggle-borns, had become stronger than ever. Helga was disappointed. Gentle and understanding, yes, but disappointed all the same. And Rowena was simply disapproving. But that was not surprising. Rowena and he, though good friends, rarely agreed with each other. They were far too alike - easily angered and easily proud. Not that Godric wasn't proud. But Godric had a pride that reflected off him, on those he deemed worthy. Godric had called him brother, once. And it was Godric that he would always miss. Godric, with his mighty sword and a mightier laugh...

And then he was labelled a monster. Soon enough even the students at Hogwarts had begun to spread a flood of rumours about him. The basilisk he had left deep inside the castle, for its ultimate defense, became another source of disparaging remarks. A monster who owned a monster, they had said...

Salazar shook his head, removing himself from these troubling thoughts. For even the memories of his friends were troubling, now. He was getting into the habit of remembering the past and forgetting the present. Old age, he thought. His son Marlovic simply thought him senile and crazy. And to think he had been one of the Founders, the greatest witches and wizards of his generation.

Though busy with his work, Marlovic still found time to drop in on his father. And soon enough, few hours later, Marlovic did drop by. He found his father sitting beside the fireplace, staring out the window, muttering, and a snake clutched in his palm. That snake, he found, was a soothing company to his father.

"Father?" he called, slowly. His father seemed very jumpy of late. Salazar Slytherin turned to face his son. His ancient looking face was suddenly transformed by a smile. "Father, shall we have dinner together?"  
Salazar looked surprised. "Is it time, already?"  
Marlovic nodded. "Aye. And I have acquired of a medicinal plant said to possess special properties. I shall inform the servants to prepare a different potion tonight. "|  
Salazar nodded. "Do what you must, son."  
Marlovic allowed a small smile to appear on his lips. "I always do, father." Just as he was about to leave, however, he heard his father ask a question.  
Marlovic turned.  
"When I die, what arrangements will you make? " his father asked again. Marlovic was not surprised. His father often asked questions such as these. For his father's sake, he thought for a while.  
"When you die, father," he said, " I shall build you a magnificent sculpture, one so tall that you can only see it from far, so grand that anyone who gazed upon it would not tear his gaze away. I shall make public your achievements. And of course I shall honour you with my words."  
Salazar closed his eyes and nodded. For a moment, he could see himself immortalised by words and stone, and by his son. He allowed himself to bask in the glory and pride of knowing it was possible. For a moment. And then, when the moment was over, his mind was made up.

"Bury me in the uneven ground," he said. "Build me no sculptures and spread no lies. Honour me in your remembrance of me. Honour me in your life, your words and your deeds, for you are my legacy. Those who wish to truly know me shall find me in my work. And the rest do not matter."

Marlovic slowly nodded and looked away. "As you wish, father." He left the room in search of the servants. Salazar once again turned to the snake lying on his desk.  
"Quite a fine day, is it not? We should spend some time together," he murmured, yet again. "All four of us."

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****A/N - ****

**This was inspired by a fanfic "Strange visitors from another century" by Isilarma. A MUST READ.**

**In the fic, Salazar was not evil, but throughout the years history began to depict him as such. **

**Corruption of information. **

**Back in those days, muggles feared and tried to destroy anything that was connected to magic. There was a persecution of wizards as much as the attacks on muggles.**

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